


Flowering Buds

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Series: Gifts and Requests [13]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Awkward Romance, Can't think of a joke tag, Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24534469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: Plumeria and Guzma make the awkward transition from "friends with benefits" to "I actually care about you" and they both suck at it.
Relationships: Guzma & Plumeri | Plumeria, Guzma/Plumeri | Plumeria
Series: Gifts and Requests [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822471
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Flowering Buds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Madfalldyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madfalldyn/gifts).



> Gift to [Birdschach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdschach) for being one of two winners of my Pokemon Twitter Nickname challenge!
> 
> I'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke) and [ Hentai Foundry](http://www.hentai-foundry.com/user/Lewdsmokesoldier/profile).

With a grunt, Guzma thrust his cock as deep into Plumeria as he could fit it, his ballsack still swaying from his furious pounding as it came to a rest against her clit. One of his hands was grabbing two tassels of her hair, yellow and pink, wrapping them around his palm to better hold her. The other rested on her ass, fingers digging into the red skin of her butt after a tiring go at slapping and smacking her rear back and forth. Plumeri’s hissing was muffled by her face being pressed into the couch cushion, her pants still scrunched beneath her knees. Her backside was terribly sore from his blows, but she didn’t think she was in much position to complain. She’d already enjoyed three rollicking, numbing orgasms wrapped around Guzma’s dick this time, and that was far from a scanty prize indeed.

So it didn’t bother her that he was giving her the same tell for his own peak that he usually did. At this point, he’d earned it. Guzma wheezed and whistled, sweat dripping down from his chin to land on her bare back, hands relaxing their grip as his energy left him in the rush of his climax. His cum painted her pussy, warm and thick and oh-so satisfying as she kept clenching and tensing around him to draw out even more spunk from his aching, quivering balls. 

He pulled out with a wet _shlurp_ , his load still oozing from her pussy as he wiped his dick on her asscheeks ineffectually, smearing his seed and the drenching she’d left on his shaft across her skin. Once, he might have tried to say something, to ease the passage back from fucking her to being the boss of their crew, but by now he’d learned that any such attempts were fruitless, and counter to his own interests, anyway. 

Guzma nodded and left, pulling his pants back up and leaving her in his throne room. He hadn’t even taken his jacket off during the whole thing, and he was going to be walking around Po Town’s mansion with his wet dick hurriedly stuffed back in his pants. In short, he was giving every appearance of being a slob.

Plumeria didn’t mind. Guzma had a rustic, unhewn appeal. That was part of why she’d started hooking up with him, anyway.

* * *

They had a mutual understanding. The two of them would lead their merry band of misfits, rejects, and nonconformists in their own way, apart from the traditions and limitations of Island Challenges and Kahunas. Guzma would train, be in charge, and try to make sure people took them seriously. Plumeria would work closer to the rest of the crew, protecting and nurturing them into what they could be outside of the systems of the island chain. 

That had fallen apart pretty quickly. Guzma cared too much about validating his message to stay uninvolved, and Plumeria cared too much about her charges to be any kind of real criminal. Team Skull was more of a loosely-knit crew of folks who didn’t fit in than a hardened gang, but in spite of their lack of organization, they cared about each other. They stuck together in the face of Alolan values that told them they weren’t worth much at all. In the chaos of those early months, Guzma and Plumeria had had the chance to consider the direction of the group and the role each of them could play in it. 

She had been the first to suggest that the two leaders start fucking, to pump out the pressure that assailed them with each other. For all of his bluster and bragging and posturing, Guzma had honestly seemed terrified by the possibility. He’d retreated from her proposal, giving her the cold shoulder for days and putting Plumeria in a position to distract herself with her “younger siblings” in the crew. She couldn’t teach them to battle like Guzma could, but she did her best. Honestly, most people who came to Team Skull had the same story that had faced her and Guzma. Kids who didn’t fit the Island Challenge, or chafed under the rules that bound them, or who longed to see their real talents recognized. They came to Team Skull seeking camaraderie and validation, and she tried her best to cultivate that welcome.

When he finally approached her again, it was, as she expected, to accept her offer. But even though Guzma was strong, stronger than anyone had given him credit for, he was still scared. No matter how much he masked it with bravado, jokes, or choleric grousing, Guzma was frightened of disappointing her.

They put paid to _that_ worry soon enough. He could be an inelegant, uncouth slob, but he was still charismatic in a rough way. And he had a fat dick, anyways, and he knew how to use it. Their first attempts had been awkward and stumbling, thanks to his bulk and her lithe lankiness, but what they lacked in congruity they made up for with enthusiasm, and it wasn’t long before Guzma could bring her to writhing, carpet-clenching orgasms on the tip of his cock, spearing and filling her over and over until she was reduced to a tired, cursing mess of a woman as he emptied his balls inside and over her. She could return his aggression just as easily, riding him into the cushion of his throne until his legs were numb below the knees and the chair was given a fresh set of stains from their mingled sweat and cum. 

There were patterns that fell into place. Restrictions that, though unspoken, still held them in thrall. Guzma never spoke to Plumeria when they had sex, save for what was necessary to get her into the right spot, and she never spoke to him unless it was to tell him that this time, he wasn’t going to be pushing her around. And even that was only ever communicated with grunts, gestures, and glances of their eyes. 

Nor did they ever do anything _other_ than the basics. Whether he was holding her in a full-nelson hold while he pounded her pussy, being constricted by her legs as she thrust herself onto his dick from above, or some bizarre tangle in between, his dick never ventured anywhere other than her pussy, and he never offered to prep her with his tongue. Sure, he was diligent with his hands and usually got her off at least once before shoving his dick in her, so it wasn’t like he was being inconsiderate, but Plumeria was puzzled by his reluctance to go further. For a man who pushed every boundary without pause, experimenting here seemed alien to him.

Of course, Plumeria kept fucking him, because she had no one else who could. That’s what she told herself, at least, and she believed it. She believed that she was only doing this to seek the thrill of cumming, and that Guzma was just the lucky guy who got to share it with her. It made perfect sense to her, and it would have been a perfect explanation if she didn’t know she was lying, because for all his flaws and quirks and fears and vices, Guzma had her trust. More than that, he had her affection. 

She saw the magnetism that threatened to expose Alola’s systemic failings, and the drive to barrel on ahead with his goal, his certainty giving him strength. Every time the tone of his voice softened as he reminded a younger member that, no, Poison-Types could _not_ damage Steel-types, Plumeria felt herself get a little closer to recognizing the truth. Every time he paused when a grunt came back after another failed attempt at causing a ruckus, his patience dampening his beratement and turning it to a teaching moment. Every time he accepted another member into the fold, on her recommendation, even if they didn’t know the circumstances under which they wanted an “in” to the group.

Whenever Guzma reminded her that, yes, he really _did_ want to make Team Skull a place for those that Alola had left behind, just like the two of them, he warmed her heart towards him just a little bit more than it already was. But she didn’t want to ruin what they had. They were having fun, and mixing feelings up with it risked destroying it all. 

Plumeria thought that he might feel the same way, when he lingered by her when they were done rather than running off, or when he paused and silently asked permission before touching her hand or shoulder when he was helping her lead a training exercise for the grunts. So many little gestures, small kindnesses and smoother edges that could tell her so much, but never enough for her to be certain. Maybe he didn’t know what he felt, either.

* * *

Guzma’s most direct display of his new sensitivity came when, in lieu of their usual pattern of tearing-each-other’s-clothes-off and rutting, he instead tore her clothes off, pushed her back onto the cum-and-sweat-stained couch cushions, and brought his lips between her legs. He glanced upwards, tongue extended but a hair’s breadth from her clit, watching for her assent. Plumeria raised an eyebrow, but kept herself in place, unable to discern what those sleek gray eyes were telling her. But her lack of a refusal was all the go-ahead she was going to give him. That was just her way, and he was too awkward to communicate his intentions otherwise.

Guzma dipped his head forward, tongue flicking out in exploration, prodding the delicate nub at the crown of her slit. One hand rested flatly beneath her thighs, cupping the skin in his palm, while the other was splayed out on her knee as he lay on his stomach and kept licking and lapping back and forth. 

Plumeria hissed, clenching her fists and grabbing a handful of the couch cushions. The movements of his tongue were sloppy, uncoordinated, and clumsy, but he was persistent, and he was energetic enough. The ministrations of Guzma’s tongue were leaving her with a feeling of blooming warmth up from her crotch and a pleasant, if inconsistent sort of stimulation. Her body appreciated the effort anyways, little pulses of warmth rewarding her every time Guzma dragged his tongue up beneath her clit, his mouth bumping at her lower lips while his nose pressed against the pink patch of her pubic hair.

She tightened her grip, grinding her teeth together while Guzma slipped his tongue forward, and then he was _in_ her, curling and sliding and wriggling without expertise but it was still _so good_. However amateurly he ate her out, Guzma’s newfound boldness, and what it meant for them, was almost more erotic in and of itself. The knowledge wouldn’t get her to cum...but combined with the workings of his tongue, well, she’d be feeling everything she needed.

_Riiip!_

Plumeria gasped, clenching with her hands so tightly that the couch cushion was ripped in the shape of her fingers, a chunk of stuffing falling out with the dislodged fabric. Guzma didn’t stop, and Plumeria’s quickening pulse, stuttering breath, and the growing pressure in her core and groin was pulling her to a breakneck finish. Shuddering and whining, she came, gushing over Guzma’s tongue and lips, legs quivering as she erupted in awe of the attentions that had been paid to her so sincerely. Guzma recoiled and leaned his head back, wiping his face as she whistled, the tension pouring out of her aching limbs. Her vision was swimming, drool flecking the corner of her mouth, but she was still lucid as Guzma rose and tilted his head quizzically.

It was a simple gesture, but she understood it well enough. If they went ahead with this, it would be different from how it had been before. The same actions, but with a new...significance, even if left unsaid. Were they ready for the jump? What might they be putting in danger by moving forward, now, at this point, when so much was still up in the air?

Plumeria tilted her head back and exposed the smooth expanse of her throat, smiling slightly. Guzma took the hint, nudging his pants down and off, climbing atop of her with unusual steadiness and care, watching for her hand to guide him to her folds. When he sank in, it wasn’t in a quick, rough thrust like he had so many other times before. Instead, he slid forward gently, slowly, and the languid advance let her relish every new friction and push within her until he was in, as far as he could, his balls resting on her skin. 

She met his eyes and saw caring in them, different from the attention he paid to his charges. There was a new awareness there. She wanted more, and so Plumeria lifted her legs to wrap them around Guzma’s waist, resting her thighs on his body as he pulled out, slowly, and then moved back in with a smooth glide, filling her once again.

Yes, there was a great deal that they didn’t know. So much that was left to understand, and so much to fear. But neither of them were the sort to dawdle for want of preparation, and better to communicate their connection now, in their silent way, than to never get the chance. It was their way, and that bridge played no small part in bringing Guzma and Plumeria together.


End file.
